


illusions made inside my head

by starblessed



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Angst, Class Differences, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: Dmitry is living a life that was never meant for him, and he can’t stand it any longer.Anastasia is a star he was never meant to reach; a sun he was not born to stare into; a fantasy that somehow became real.Anastasia is not supposed to be his.





	illusions made inside my head

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt over at my [tumblr](http://abroholoselephanta.tumblr.com/)! I had an inappropriate amount of fun writing this, maybe bc I Love Pain

**AN: my love, do not ask me for angst, you will regret it**

He pulls away, fighting to twist out of her reach, but she holds his wrist fast. Her grip is like iron, chaining him to the spot whether he likes it or not; and he _doesn’t_ like it.

She wants to keep him here, and he can’t stay. She thinks they can forge a future for themselves, free of their pasts; she of all people should understand how impossible it is. 

They might not be in Russia anymore, he might not be a wanted man and she might not be an amnesiac streetsweeper, but they are still different. They are separated by worlds, by lifetimes. The gap between them was never meant to be breached. Their fates were never meant to intertwine. A conman should never have fallen in love with a princess.

“I don’t understand you, Dmitry,” she says, her voice simmering with barely-controlled rage. She’s always had a temper, but she’s getting better at reigning it in (Dmitry teases that he’s not sure if she’s getting old, or her royal blood is finally kicking in and turning her into a stiff) — except when she’s angry.

Anya is very, _very_ angry.

“Let me go,” he demands. When he tries to jerk away, her grip only tightens. He hisses, spinning her around, until it’s her back to the window and his to the door. If he could only get away from her, he could make a clean break — for a day or two. (He knows better than to think he could stay away forever — this is his home, after all, and Anya lives here too — but he’s spent most of his life on the streets. He could make do.) Anya, however, shows no signs of letting go.

“I won’t let you walk away because you’re scared. If you had any other reason, I would. But I won’t let you go for this.”

It’s ridiculous. She’s a tiny girl; he’s picked her up and swung her in the air more times than he can count. He should be able to get away with ease. And Dmitry _wants_ to, wants to so strongly that it burns like fire inside his stomach. He can’t stand looking at her like this; so fierce and beautiful, within his reach. He can’t stay here with Anya when she’s so close that he could hold her and forget about letting go. He can’t slip into comfortable delusion all over again.

“A reason?” he growls. “You want a reason? How about the Romanovs?”

“What does my family have to do with this?”

Aside from _everything?_ The age-old scars that marr Anya’s body do not just immortalize her family’s tragedy, but their legacy as well. The expectations. The reputation. The distant life of a princess. (The future she never got to have. The one she ought to be living with someone _else.)_

When he attends her grandmother’s tea parties, he has nothing to say. He sticks to the sidelines, attracting wary looks — a foreigner in a world he does not belong to. The Dowager Empress respects him, but does not understand him. All of Lily and Vlad’s dignified old friends are left confused as to why _Count Vladimir Popov_ would associate himself with a common Russian boy — imagine their reactions if they knew he shared a home with their lost princess?

This is the world Anya is meant to belong to. She deserves someone who is not a stranger to it. Dmitry can not be Vlad, able to move fluidly through the upper crust and adapt anywhere. Dmitry is unapologetically himself. _Anastasia_ can never be his future, and through all of this pretending differently they have only been deluding themselves.

“My family is dead, Dmitry,” she retorts, voice icy and venomous. “We have no country, no throne, and very few riches. Do you really think you and I are so different?”

He thinks of shining, gem-encrusted dresses and tiaras; he thinks of fancy teas at her grandmother’s apartment, and the new jewelry Anya now wears — the gleaming necklace around her neck that he could never afford to give her.

“Yes,” he replies simply. “I do. And I think you’re a fool for giving it all up.”

“You think _that’s_ what I’m doing?”

“Of course it is, Anya! You know it as well as I do, so just stop _pretending —“_

“How am I pretending?” She spits the word like venom, that wicked temper finally flaring up. “I’m so sick of people using that word! I’m _not a pretender!”_

Of course not. Anya is overwhelmingly genuine in everything that she does. That’s part of why Dmitry loves her, and part of why he has to leave.

He takes one look at her eyes, blazing with icy fire, and finds the strength he needs to pull away. The feeling of her hand leaving his wrist is like glass shattering inside his chest.

“I can’t do this,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

He’s just turned his back and taken two steps towards the door when Anya’s voice freezes him in his tracks again. “Tell me why!”

Dmitry squares his jaw, eyes burning. “What?”

“Go on, tell me,” she demands, her voice steel-sharp, smoldering with utter fury. “Tell me I don’t matter!”

He spins around, stunned; her words strike him like a punch to the chest. The sight of Anya, tears spilling down her cheeks, but still utterly _furious,_ almost strangles him.

“Tell me you don’t love me!”

He can’t do this. He _can’t._ He’s going to cry, and he hasn’t cried in front of anyone since his father died. This still manages to be even more devastating. He didn’t choose to lose his father, but he is walking away from the woman he loves.

“Anya, please,” he says. “Please.”

“Tell me,” she appeals again, and lunges for him. Dmitry stumbles back, nearly tripping over his own feet, but he manages to avoid her. If she caught him again, he knows, he could never bring himself to go.

“I do love you,” he says, and inhales a shuddering breath. “I’m always going to love you.”

Anya looks at him. Hope stirs in the glimmering pools of her eyes. Paris is reflected behind her, shining through the window. It is a city of lights, gleaming and brilliant, of towering buildings and bright colors, of riches and royalty. It is a world he will never belong to. With the pink sunset shining behind her, Dmitry can’t help but think, she looks beautiful.

“And that’s why I have to go.”

He sees her shatter. When her heart breaks, he watches it fall in fragments to the floor; when she slumps back, all the fight gone out of her, it is the most unnatural thing in the world.

 _Wrong,_ a traitorous voice hisses at him. _This is all wrong. You’re a fool._

Dmitry’s heard it say the opposite thing too many times; he’s done listening to it.

He turns from her, and walks out of the apartment before he can look back. He leaves all the shining, beautiful things behind.

They never were meant for him, anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> I think they would definitely make their differences work in the end, but I feel like Dmitry would have a rough time adjusting to life outside of Petersburg, and could feel kind of self-conscious for a while in his relationship with Anya??? It would be something he’d have to overcome to realize that he really is good enough for her, but it’s interesting to think how their relationship would play out after canon!


End file.
